When I saw her at school after our time at the cabins, I had tried to coax whatever happened between her and Mitch out of her to no avail. She’d clam up, then laugh it off, and then become so silent that I would have to touch her to get her to participate in the conversation again.
I couldn’t complain about her silence. I had given her the same sort of treatment over the years, and even then, she only knew the bare minimum about Brando and me. Her privacy had to be respected until she felt it was the right time to confess whatever it was that was going on. If she ever would. She had changed. Something about her seemed more mature, quieter in a way that unsettled me.
“Yeah, what’s up with you tonight?” Mick said, catching up to us, throwing his arm around Violet’s shoulder. He pulled left, I pulled right, and she seesawed between us.
Mitch walked backward, spreading his arms wide. “Nothing at all, lil brother. What would make you ask such a question?”
“I know what it is.” Mick laughed. It was such a smooth sound, so different from his brother’s. “You’re a grumpy old man now.”
“Grumpy old man?” Mitch stopped walking and waited for us. When we were close enough, he threw himself on his brother, breaking Mick and Violet’s connection.
Mitch rubbed his knuckles over Mick’s head in a Three Stooges move. Not long after, they started to wrestle like two young boys. Both of the cigarettes tucked behind their ears fell to the dusty ground.
Violet and I kept walking toward the fire. We said nothing for some time, the party revved up around us, and I pulled her closer. Her body heat warmed me—Brando’s jacket was sufficient, but the thin, black, long-sleeve t-shirt underneath, paired with a short, blue velvet skirt and black stockings, didn’t seem to be warding off the cold as much as needed. At least my feet were good in Doc Martens.
I bumped her with my hip.
She grinned, but her eyes seemed glossed over, far away. She seemed to be reaching for something she couldn’t quite grasp. “Did I mention how utterly Medusa-like your hair looks tonight? Those wild curls are onpointe.”
The grin on my face matched hers. “No, but you created this look, so I thought you would have noticed.”
“Right,” she extended the word. “At any rate. I love the look on you. It brings out the tamed, but tortured, ballerina gone rogue.”
“Those are two words that don’t usually go together.”
“Ballerina and tortured?”
“No, ballerina and rogue.”
“All jokes aside.” She sighed. “You look beautiful, Scarlett. You look happy.”
I stopped walking and pulled her back. She refused to face me. “Tell me what’s going on, Violet.” The comment startled me—not so much the comment, but the way I had worded it. Blunt. I had adopted Brando’s usual commanding way.
She glanced behind us, at the two brothers rolling around in the dirt. Then she turned her eyes forward. They glistened in reflection to the bonfire and the tears she seemed to be holding back. Her thick, dark, intense eyebrows were at war with the helpless look in her eyes. She sniffled and then ripped her arm from mine.
“I’mfine, Scarlett. I’m happy. See.” She smiled a cheesy smile. “I’mjustfine.”
I went to touch her but thought better of it. “All right,” I said softly. “But if you ever feelblue, you know that I’m always here foryou.”
She spit out a laugh mixed with a sob, though no tears fell, and then entwined our arms together again. We continued forward.
“Did you ever ask the sinful chocolate cake to your parents’ annual Christmas party?” She nodded toward Brando, who stood on the other side of the flames, his usual sucker in place, his eyes resolute on my forward-moving form.
The heat made him seem like a gorgeous mirage.
“He’s been watching you since way back there.” She threw her chin toward the past. “You must throw off a certain degree of heat that only his sensor can find. He just went to help cart the ice chests and look at him. His eyes are locked and loaded on you. All night. That’s all he did. Watch.”
He did, but he seemed to enjoy himself too, even though the music didn’t suit his tastes. I’d never forget the feel of his substantial arms and hands snaking around my waist, holding me while I danced to the music. He moved with me, his breath in my ear when he leaned in to kiss me there.
I couldn’t respond to her. Even though we were just together, the slight separation caused the blood in my veins to heat and the flutters in my stomach to flit around in a wild panic when our eyes connected. An unbidden smile came to my face.
“You are such a goober,” she laughed. “Why are you smiling?”
I shrugged in response to her last question and answered her first. “No, I haven’t invited him. Yet. I was going to ask him during the Festival of Lights.”
“Have you asked your parents?”
“No.”
